training: satellite
You can't fill your cup until you empty all it has -
You can't understand what lays ahead if you don't understand the past.
velezen vilarys, district five male
…
When Velezen opens his eyes, it is not to the cold, stark interior of a shoddy prison cell, nor the muted tones of the Order's compound, a place that had grown familiar enough to him he had almost begun to think of it as home. There's a lot to be said for the virtues of shelter - even though he had scarcely been endeared to Aurelio's little cult when first they met, it was the Order who had taken him in when no others would, allowing him a space in their community and putting a stable roof over his head, even when he had done little to earn it.
(Five might call his people crazy, slander them as zealots, as dissidents set on disturbing the social order, but they are so much more than mere acolytes or rebels. It's a shame, really, that his District was incapable of recognizing their worth… or the threat they posed… until it was too late.)
Velezen may loathe Five with a passion, but it is, nonetheless, his home. More importantly, it was Theia's home. If anything of worth could be salvaged from it…
But enough on that.
(He has greater problems to deal with.)
The ceiling over his head is chrome, galvanized and shimmering with a metallic gloss that Velezen finds more irritating than trendy. Even with the matte coating that seems to cling to it, he can make out the vestiges of his own reflection upon the ceiling panels, stretched out atop the mess of fluffy blankets and pressed sheets covering his assigned bed. The sight is disconcerting enough to turn his gaze, and when Velezen allows his eyelids to flutter shut, the half-image of his own exhausted body fading into the dark of obscurity, he cannot help but imagine two-way mirrors in place of ceiling panels, wardens watching as he paced the length of his cell, laughing at his blatant insecurity.
(He cannot sleep. Not in this place, where he is nothing more than a plaything to be trussed up and prodded by the authoritarian devils who live to mock him. Velezen Vilarys will not be eye-candy for Capitol voyeurs, will not be one of their beloved tributes, set up on display to dance a gallows jig for the government's sadistic amusement. All his life he has been made a spectacle of, by his parents, his District, even the man who claimed to love him…)
No more, he thinks, biting into the flesh of his lip, rending it apart between his wicked teeth, sharp enough to break skin. No more scrutiny. No more conformity. I'm done with this shit.
I'm done with all of it.
He throws the covers away from his body, stumbling out of bed on aching legs and weary feet, the whole of his body feeling dead even while he inhabits it. Bruises mottle the flesh of his torso, trailing from his chest down to his waist, and lower still when he dares to look, his aching legs painted over with tones of purple and blue. He reaches down to rub at them, and the twinge of pain that shoots through his nerves manages to course up his spine, eliciting a wince and a dismissive sigh in turn. Yeah, damn PK's fucked me up real good, Zen muses as he grits his teeth, straightening his back and rising once more, his gaze darting to the bedroom door. They're lucky I've got enough manners not to just march out guns blazin' and make 'em regret it. Though I doubt Argenta would be so accommodating…
A laugh escapes him. Of all the people who could've been reaped this year, it figures it came down to him and a literal demon child. Not that he's complaining, oh no. For as batshit crazy as Argenta is, she's also the only reason any of this shit has been bearable. Velezen's never had trouble handling shit all by his lonesome, but he's not going to deny that having a partner-in-crime keeps things more interesting. Less chance of boredom when you're constantly watching your back… or something to that effect.
'sides, the kid's got her priorities straight, he thinks, as (yet another) BANG! echoes from within the room neighboring his own, accompanied by something smashing violently against the floor. A shout of fuck you! follows shortly after, though the guards that have been posted outside their bedrooms don't even bother giving a response. Clearly everything's all well and good, so long as she stays inside her room.
Zen wonders if that same logic applies to him. Because he could really use a few minutes to stretch his legs, and asking for permission isn't really his thing.
He eyes the chamber door again, tongue running over his bloody lip in contemplation.
Eh… fuck it, he decides, reaching for his discarded sleep shirt and pulling it on over his head, the thin, grey cotton clinging to his sweat-soaked skin. If they kill me, they kill me. I've survived worse anyhow.
(dagger digging into his gut, hands on his arms, pinning him down as he tried to thrash, the very people he'd called his comrades tying his feet to the posts of a bloody alter, their faces obscured by copper masks, what the fuck are you doing, are you kidding me, Aurelio, you whore, you pig, you slimy, acrimonious bottomfeeder, I'll kill you for this, I'll fucking kill you!)
(they cut into his organs and tried to pull them out, the blood was leaking all over his hands but he couldn't scream, couldn't breathe, cloth clogging his throat as candlewax dribbled over his freezing skin, the chanting in his ears growing fainter and fainter until he couldn't hear it at all…)
("How could you do this to yourself?" His mother had screamed when he came to in a hospital bed, fifteen hours after they'd pumped the pills out of his gut, his skin so pale it was almost ghastly. "After everything we've given you, everything we've done for you? You ungrateful little -"
"You never wanted me!" He remembers screaming, because it's true, Theia was the one they loved, the one everyone loved, and even if his parents never said it, they didn't have to. "You wish it was me that died in that fire, not your golden girl, your perfect daughter! Ever since the beginning, all you've seen me as was a -")
(" - mistake! I never should have trusted you, shouldn't have listened to a damn thing you said -")
("I take you in and this is how you repay me, Velezen? By stealing the cult that I created, usurping my position for your own selfish -")
("You tried to kill me, Aurelio! I thought it was going to be us against the world, but you lied to me, you lied, you're just like the rest of them, plunging your blade into the backs of your lovers -")
Another THWACK! comes from the other side of the wall, and Zen shakes away the memories, pushing them back into their little box before they have a chance to eat him alive.
Aurelio's dead, now. With any luck, his parents are too. And the Order…
He'll probably never know.
Not that it matters. Velezen strides to the door, twists the handle and pushes past the guard outside, ignoring the sound of their abrupt shout. If I can't make a change in Five, I'll settle for making the Capitol's lives a living hell.
"Where the hell do you think you're going, Tribute?"
"The training room," Velezen retorts, spinning around as a large, black-gloved hand wraps tight about his arm, hauling him back in the direction of his room. He smirks as the Peacekeeper starts to usher him inside, raising an eyebrow in bemusement when his feet have passed the threshold of the door, the implications of being dragged off to bed by a PK far too funny to ignore. "Hey, hey, I know I like to say fuck the cops and all, but this is moving a little fast, don't you think?"
The Peacekeeper makes a disgusted noise, letting go of his wrist. Two seconds later, the bedroom door slams unceremoniously in Velezen's face, before he even has the opportunity to protest.
"Aw, come on, man!" He says, slamming his hand down on the barrier, making one, last ditch attempt to obtain some early morning freedom.
The Peacekeeper's rough baritone is terse when he replies. "Rules are rules."
What fun are you?
Zen steps back, frown tugging at his lips.
"Well…" He starts, at a loss. "Can I at least get some fucking coffee before you put me back on house arrest?"
"I'll have to check with my supervisor."
"You'll have to check with your… man, it's coffee! How the fuck is me getting a cup of coffee going to break Peacekeeper Protocol?"
Silence. Dead. Fucking. Silence.
Zen slumps backward, his back sliding down the wall until he's sitting on the floor, half-bare legs stretched out in front of him, his hair matted to his forehead. Prick. It's not like he's going to pull anything in the tribute center - he's outspoken, not suicidal.
Guess this is what I get for putting myself on the Capitol's shitlist.
He reaches up to push his hair back from his face, unsure what to do. Should he head back to bed? Try and get some sleep before the day emerges? Not like he had any luck before, but clearly he's got nothing else to do…
Damn it. Zen rubs at his bloodshot eyes, blinking a few times as he tries to push the soreness from them. It's true that he's tired - so much that he can barely focus, beyond the adrenaline of his anger and the bitterness of his feelings.
He's got a week left to live. After everything he's been through, everything he's survived, this is what's going to do him in. The fucking Hunger Games. The Capitol. The big man himself.
"Unreal," he mutters. "Absolutely unreal."
jade echeverry, district two female
…
Jade Echeverry is not a rebel.
Not like her parents. Not like Emric. Not like Ailith - the strong one, the self-assured one, the Echeverry sister who never had a problem with raising her voice and speaking from the heart, even when her words came at the potential price of her life. Ailith was the one that people would listen to, always more emotive, more gregarious, more endearing, despite the fact she saw the world through rose-tinted lenses. She could be impulsive, and naive, and reckless, but she had this fire to her that lit up every room she stepped foot in, and Jade?
Jade doesn't have that.
She's not Ailith.
(She's not even Jade anymore. She's just… a body. A body that looks like another body, because as far as society is concerned, Jade and Ailith Echeverry might as well be the same person. One sister's as good as the other when they're both marked for death… right?)
And therein lies the problem. Ailith isn't here. Ailith was reaped, but she didn't get on the train, she didn't go to the Capitol, she didn't get up at six o'clock this morning to an unfamiliar room with unfamiliar walls, her mind overwhelmed by the vestiges of insomnia. She didn't look in the bathroom mirror as she pinned her hair up, and she didn't unpin the name card reading Ailith from the sleek, black training uniform that was left on the marble counter. She didn't sit across from Geneva Stone at the dining table, sipping orange juice from a glass cup that probably costs more than half the furniture in her parents' kitchen. She didn't get spirited away from her District to die, even though it was her name that the escort pulled out of that bowl, her name that is on the entirety of Panem's lips, with a mix of trepidation, respect and disdain.
At least Jade has her face.
She can play the part well enough to convince most of the tributes. Put on a brave face, throw out a sarcastic quip here and there, make some insurgent comments under her breath to give off the impression that she hatesthe Capitol, even if not so brazenly as her sister does. Dissident, the escort had said when she called out Ailith's name, and regardless of how well the term fits, it's the one that's been permanently stuck to her.
(Admittedly, it's a lot better than the one Jade's assigned to herself. Liar. Pretender. Fool. Fraud. It's those labels that have been ringing in her ears since the day she left Two, swirling about her head every time she interacts with Kellen, hears Ailith's name come out of his mouth, so casual that he seems to actually believe it.)
(Perhaps he does. Kellen's never met her sister - the real Ailith, the fierce, headstrong rebel whose will permeated every word she said. Perhaps to him, one sister really is as good as the other, because he has no baseline from which to judge Jade's behavior, no preconceived ideal of what Ailith is supposed to be.)
… she can be a dissident if that's what the Capitol asks of her. She just needs to keep her wits about her; play the Games smart and keep an open ear. So long as she's convincing, nobody will doubt who she is. Even if she dies, at least Ailith will be safe.
Correction: at least Ailith will be alive.
Jade's mouth pinches into a tight line as she steps into the waiting embrace of the elevator, squeezing past its inhabitants to take up a spot along the wall, one hand braced against the silver rail. "Morning," she says, her eyes darting between two pretty, blonde heads belonging to the pair from District One, her lips twitching, twitching-twitching, as she tries to force them into a smile (because that's what Ailith would do, what you should do). Once they've curved a touch she turns her face away, the metal doors sliding closed as the elevator once again begins to descend, passing floor after floor on its way down to the training center.
"Where's your District partner?" The One girl asks, cocking a perfectly manicured eyebrow. Jade chuckles (an affectation, because she does not want to talk with these two, even after their encounter before the Opening Ceremony last night) and shrugs one shoulder, trying to come across as genially carefree, the way her sister might. One's brow does not drop.
"He got into a bit of an argument with our mentor this morning," she says. "Prompt and punctual is more my thing than Kellen's, honestly - I think he gets a kick out of eschewing rules."
"And you don't?" One asks, crossing her arms over her black-clad chest. Jade conjures up another smile and shakes her head.
"I prefer to be more discreet with my rule-breaking," she answers, and it's not technically a lie, for her or for Ailith. Her sister is capable of playing things safe, she just generally chooses not to unless Jade's nagging her. But that's neither here nor there. It's true enough. "A little caution is necessary when you have the background I do."
"Rebel," the One boy comments with a wink, nudging his partner with his elbow. "Sure you still want to ask her, Elysia? Dissidence isn't really your thing."
The girl - Elysia, Jade thinks, I need to remember that - rolls her eyes and steps to the side, out of her District partner's reach.
"I can work with that attitude," she responds, though the words are quiet, more as if she's thinking aloud than actively acknowledging her partner's needling. She looks at Jade again, and rewards her previous expression of "friendliness" with her own tight-lipped smile, although the expression doesn't come close to reaching her eyes. Jade's fingers curl around the railbar instinctively as Elysia steps forward.
"I'm Elysia Ansaldi. District One." She glances toward the floor indicator, which Jade notes now reads TL, then returns her gaze to the girl from Two. "If you're amenable, Venice and I would like to invite you to train with us. Your partner as well, once he chooses to reveal himself."
Jade's brow furrows.
"I understand One and Two normally ally for the start of the Game," she begins, noting the ding of the indicator from within her periphery, "but Kellen and I aren't Careers. It won't be a traditional Pack alliance."
"I understand," Elysia says, stretching a hand out in front of her. "That's why I'm not asking for commitment. We can train together, see how it goes, and if things work out, we can discuss an alliance. For now, the offer stands…"
There's something off about her.
Jade clenches her teeth together. Elysia's proposal is entirely reasonable - and more considerate than she'd first anticipated. So why doesn't she want to take her hand?
"I…" she begins to say as the doors pop open, unveiling the path into the room that will occupy the whole of her time for the next few days, cold and stark and colorless at the edges of her vision. The chilly breeze that wafts back into the elevator almost feels like an omen.
(Am I going to regret this?)
"I accept."
Jade reaches out and clasps Elysia's hand, allowing the One girl to carry the shake.
"Perfect," Elysia remarks. "I look forward to seeing your skills in action."
The One boy - Venice, if she heard Elysia correctly - passes them both on his way out of the elevator, just before Elysia withdraws her hand and turns to follow him. Jade's gaze lingers on her back as she exits the elevator, posture firm and shoulders squared, her head held high in a portrayal of confidence that Jade finds oddly similar to her brother's.
The similarity ends there, of course - barring the obvious differences between their genders and appearances, Elysia's personality is nothing like that of Pallas, whose confident exterior had been little more than a front covering his inner tumult. Jade hadn't realized until he'd left just how… conflicted… his conscience had been. If she had, then maybe she could have…
What, stopped him? Kept Ailith and Emric from going to the meeting that night, stopped Pallas from mentioning it to the Peacekeepers when he got wind of when and where? You're not brave, not strong like Ailith is, or even impassioned like Pallas and Emric. You're weak. Even when the messenger showed up to deliver the news, and Mom and Dad were breaking down on the floor by the doorstep, all you did was hide inside your bedroom, trying to keep Ailith from speaking up.
(Maybe she should have spoken up! Maybe you all should have spoken up! At least dying as a family united would be better than living in a clan that's practically cannibalized itself.)
You're a coward.
(You're pathetic.)
Jade stuffs her hands into her pockets, trailing the Ones down the hall into the training room. Out of all the Echeverry kids, she had been considered the responsible one. But when push came to shove and they fought their fights, all she had done was stand on the sidelines doing nothing. She told them to be smart, reminded them about discretion, emphasized caution, but she never tried to interfere with their plans, even when she'd desperately wanted to. Ailith may blame herself for what happened that night, but the fact of the matter is Jade is the most culpable of them all for the tragedy that occurred - she let Ailith get mixed up with the Underground, saying nothing for fear of disturbing the peace. She let Pallas estrange himself, and didn't speak up even when she saw him on the streets of Two, wearing a Peacekeeper's uniform. And when Ailith went to that meeting, that fucking meeting that ruined fucking everything, Jade refused to join her, prompting her to approach Emric instead.
(Her choice to volunteer was not a selfless one. It was a suicidal one. Jade is the sister that won't be missed.)
Most of the other tributes have begun milling about when she reaches the center of the room, where a stern-looking woman is standing atop a small pedestal, probably getting ready to go through the rules and regulations of tribute training. Though Elysia and Venice are standing near the front of the crowd, Jade slips off to the side to stand by herself, in a place where she's less likely to attract attention. The best thing she can do for herself here is follow the rules, commit them to heart, and try to fly under the radar until she departs from the Capitol. Training should be fairly routine, which is good, because routine is structure and it's easy to fall into without much thought. The interviews may be a bit difficult, but as long as she's friendly enough and doesn't give Tal Velasquez anything too salacious to prey upon, she can probably weather them pretty well. And then the Games…
The Games.
Coldness starts to pool in her gut. Isn't it funny that she volunteered so recklessly she hardly gave any real thought to what she was consigning herself to? Death is fine - Jade accepted that much when she stood on the stage and proclaimed herself as Ailith - but the rest of it… dealing with an unknown arena and a potentially vicious climates, encountering mutts, trying to keep enough rations to sustain her own survival, the threat of betrayal and torture… it's all starting to seem more real than it did a couple days ago. In fact, the closer the competition gets, the more cynical Jade starts to get about her chances. She never thought that she would win, and yet…
She could lose more than just her life inside that arena. She could lose her humanity.
And that, Jade thinks as the final assembly of tributes begin to trickle in, Kellen finally emerging with a fearsome scowl etched onto his visage, is why I have to keep my guard up. Now, more than ever, I can't afford to let anything slip. I have to play the role I've been given - lest my sacrifice go entirely in vain.
I can't be Jade. I'm not Jade. I'm Ailith.
Ailith.
Ailith.
tatiana terranova, district six female
…
Tatiana has never been the sort to listen to authority.
It's a problem that started when she was young, likely before she even started attending school. In fact, since the day she was born, Tati's pretty sure she's been labelled a problem child, mostly due to that fact that her poor, dismal deadbeat parents never wanted her in the first place. Even if Mommy and Daddy Dearest always tried to claim it wasn't the case, their actions said what words did not - hence the whole debacleof baby!Tatiana being raised by her sister rather than the couple that sired her.
Not that she minded. Not that she cared, because her parents had always been so terribly pathetic, toiling day in and out with their noses pressed to the grindstone of a well-oiled authoritarian machine. Tati doesn't blame them for abandoning her and Tami, because it's the way of the world in District Six, kids growing up on the streets, raising themselves because their parents are either too burnt out or doped up to give a damn about their existence.
Well, that or they're dead, Tati's mind helpfully supplies, and she doesn't even bother to stifle the laugh that creeps up her throat, spilling over her lips to die in the tense air of the training room. Only once it's out does she realize that people are staring at her - and though she probably should at least try to show some self-preservation, she can't help but preen beneath the others' attention. The curious eyes of her fellow tributes, the unyielding death glare of the HBIC (that's 'head bitch in charge') standing still atop her podium, silenced by Tatiana's audacity.
Tati looks away and begins to pick at her nails. Aww, is big bad boss girl mad at little old me? She wants to say, and only just keeps the phrase from spilling loose, her teeth sinking into her half-hissing tongue as she gracefully conceals another chuckle. Please. It's not as if anyone's listening to this retarded drivel anyway.
Except… someone is. Because of course her infuriating, precious prettyboy ally is, among other things, a fucking nerd. Tatiana watches him as he crosses his arms over his chest, his gaze fixed solely on the Head Trainer when she resumes her little 'welcome speech,' nice and attentive like she's come to expect. It's funny, Tati thinks, that even for all Patron's egotistic prattle, he really isn't the most notable face in a crowd. He's just one of the sheep, following along with the social routines, only willing to break loose when the public's eyes are turned away from him.
Not that Tati's going to tell him that, of course. She does have remnants of a heart. Sure, Patron could stand to have his pride taken down a peg, but he's a more useful ally than… well, most of this lot… and as much as she'd love to call him on his biteless bark, she really doesn't want to ruin their rapport. Sure, Patty can be a bit dull, but he's got enough barbs to hold his own in a tongue lashing… in more ways than one, from what Tati's heard. And if their stunningly complimentary personalities weren't reason enough for her to keep him in her sights, Tatiana will admit that she takes alliances very seriously.
… which is why Taji's betrayal fucked her up so bad.
(They were partners, and for as much as she'd loathed him those last few months, she's not the one who threw five years of friendship down the drain over a petty grudge. She didn't sell her ex-lover down the river over a disagreement, even for as tempting as the idea may have been. She didn't get his worthless ass reaped because of a drug dispute!)
(She didn't send him to die.)
A growl rumbles from within her chest. Tati's eyes turn to the floor, frosty tiles turning tricks inside the corners of her mind.
Whatever. So what if Taji got me reaped? Fuck him. I'm glad he left me! All he ever did was hold me back and limit my potential. But he can't constrain me any longer! He can't ruin me!
"Dismissed!" HBIC shouts, and Tati unballs her fist, her body sagging as her energy fades, sucked right out of her alongside her growing anger.
Goddammit. She could really use a hit right about now.
But, Tati considers as she finds Patron's dark head, off among the rest of the tribute throng, a distraction should be good enough for now. Time to greet my favorite fuckboy!
"Fancy meetin' you here, partner," she says as she sidles up to Patron's side. It's less than a second before she's throwing an arm around his shoulders, getting ready to steer him in the direction of a random training station. "Hope you didn't miss me too much last night."
"As if." Patron reaches up with one arm to pull Tati's hand from his body, his lip curled in an expression of sheer disgust. Tati can't help but smirk at his response. He's so fun to irritate!
"Dare I ask what it is you're smirking about?" He continues. "You look entirely too happy with yourself for eight in the morning."
"Well," Tati's smirk widens as she tucks her hands into her pockets. "I had a thought last night -"
"Oh, wow, that is cause for celebration! I wasn't sure you had it in you -"
"Patty, I have depths you cannot possibly imagine."
"I'd rather not imagine them." Patron takes a seat on the floor, Tati settling into place beside him, amicable as they are argumentative. "But that aside, do continue."
"So glad I have your permission." Tati rolls her eyes, picking up the wooden dowel from the ground beside what she now recognizes as a fire pit. Hopefully the trainers brought some extinguisher. "I was thinking about us…"
"Charming."
"... joining the Careers."
Tati twists the dowel between her fingers, idly waiting for her ally to respond. When he doesn't, she sighs, and shifts her body to properly face him.
"Well?" She asks, and Patron scoffs as she waggles her brows. "You feeling up for it, District Nine?"
"Hm, let me think about it. Two outliers of questionable strength joining a group of trained kids likely to see us as the weak link, headed by a frosty ice bitch who would probably be entirely happy to rip our heads off before the gong even sounds in the Games… gonna have to say no." He turns away to pick up a couple pieces of flint, striking them together as the trainer steps closer. "I mean really, Tati, what makes you think they'd even consider taking us?"
"Figured we could put our mouths where our skills aren't and give 'em a fucking show," she shrugs, the pun a more-than-obvious double entendre. "But if you're too pussy to handle the task…"
"Fuck you," Patron retorts offhandedly, still unwilling to look at her. "Even if the Two boy's hot -"
"The Two boy's hot?" Tati teases, and Patron tosses one of the flint sticks at her, without so much as raising his head.
"- I'm not going to fuck him for some junkie's moronic scheme."
"Real mature, buddy," she rolls her eyes. "Who pissed in your cereal this morning and made you so salty?"
"I was going to give you a nasty look, but as I can see," Patron retorts, finally - finally! - turning his damn skull around, "you already have one."
Tati smacks him with the dowel.
"What the fuck?!"
"You were talking too much," the Six girl says with a shrug. "Chatterbox is my role in the group."
"Ah, yes, and I suppose whore is mine," he snaps back, and Tati once more shrugs her cute little shoulders.
"It's a solid plan."
"It's a stupid plan," Patron corrects. "And believe it or not, I actually want to improve my chances during training, not make them worse."
"Patron. Buddy. I'm asking you as a friend." Tati (absolutely does not plead) pleads with him, scooting just a tad, just a hair closer to his side. "Think about the sponsors we could get if we were running with the fan faves! Their money could be ours. Hell, their intimidation factor could be ours! Look at me and tell me the reward wouldn't be worth the effort."
"Even if I did agree to this… proposal," he begins, "what's to say we won't still get rejected? I think it's a long shot."
"And I think you need to relax." She reaches up, this time to simply clap his shoulder, bending forward and matching his gaze as evenly as she can. "Between the two of us, who can say no?"
"To me? Nobody. To you? Well…"
"I'm gonna pretend you didn't say that." Tati smiles. "So let's try again. Patron, my darling, darling ally. How do you feel about fucking a Career?"
A/N: Satellite by Rise Against.
What a mess this chapter is. Nonetheless, hopefully it was at least somewhat enjoyable… there's a lot of crazy shit soon to come.
On another note, congratulations to Maevyn for winning the first impressions poll! Dawn, the people have spoken and they love your baby girl - thanks again for letting me work with her.
Training: Day Two should be up in a week or two!